The Tower of Il Serrohe (34 page)

“
Look, at the little Soreye among them! What a dickhead!”

Why are they calling me a little Soreye? I certainly don’t resemble them anymore than anyone else here! At least, not to me!

The escaped Kastmin and the three, fearing the Soreyes’ arrows and a well-thrown spear, fought their way into the thicket. The
willow bushes fought back furiously while the escapees sank to their calves in the boggy ground. The whistle of arrows started to close in around them and a cry was heard.

It was Raquela! Don saw her grabbing at an arrow that pierced her lower back on the right side at an angle just above that interesting white patch on her butt. It had run all the way through with the point sticking out above her waist about two inches. Blood was spreading over her bodysuit.

“
Raquela, don’t pull it out! I know it hurts, but leave it in until we can get somewhere safe.”

She looked at him with fear and pain on her face. This was the first time she had been injured by someone seeking to harm her. Don instinctively put his arm around her for support and comfort.

“
Hang on. We’ll get you out of here. Lean on me and let me get you out of this thick shit!”

He struggled to pull her feet out of the sucking bog while keeping his own balance. It was like wading through molten lead without the heat. His mud laden feet were four times their normal weight, yet he worked his way into deep cover while holding Raquela’s feet above the surface of the bog.

She twisted her body around, causing her to scream as the motion pulled at the arrow in her back.

The group continued to drag themselves from sight. Luckily, no one else caught an arrow. Finally, after several minutes of being beaten senseless by the stinging swats of the willow bushes, they reached high, drier ground around an old half dead cottonwood.

Don gently sat Raquela down and collapsed beside her. He was panting so heavily, he couldn’t speak. Sweat poured off him in waterfalls. Yet he was only aware of Raquela. Her face was twisted in pain and she moaned softly.

“
What do you have in your bag to dress a wound, Raquela?” he wheezed. Nersite came up to her other side and was barely breathing hard.

“
Oh, for a chance to face those demons with a sharpened staff!” he cried. “Yet, I fear I wouldn’t have done much good. I don’t like running—”

“
But what can you do in that kind of situation, Nersite.” Don panted. “It’s OK, I felt like a pussy, too. But we’ll live to fight another day. Right now, our friend, Raquela, needs us to be the healers.”

Looking at the arrow, he was relieved to see it was through the part of her back avoiding major organs and hoped there would be no internal bleeding.

“
I’m going to leave the arrow in for now. You have some bleeding, but it’s not too bad. It could get a lot worse with the arrow out, plus you might get an infection.”

“
It hurts,” Raquela protested.

“
I know. I’m sorry, but it’ll hurt a lot more if I pull it out now. We have to get you somewhere we can clean the wound and pack it with a dressing that won’t make things worse.”

She looked at him with eyes that pierced him to the soul. Though there was pain there, he felt intimidated by the depth of her look.

“
I trust you know what you’re doing,” she said. “And you’re right about the wound. I can’t think straight. I can handle it. Let’s go back to the Taurimin and Càhbahmin. They will have what we need to dress my wound—”

Nersite cut in. “And I can go to Piralltah Steeples to get someone to tend your wound.”

“
Good idea, Nersite,” Don said. “You know the way better than I do and can probably move faster. But I’m not sure I can find the way back to where we were last night.”

“
I’ll go with you and then cut across to the Steeples from there,” Nersite offered.

Raquela gave Nersite a knowing look.  “And bring Florentine.”

“
Of course, who else?” he said.

“
Let’s go!” Don urged.

Trying not to be overly sensitive to Raquela’s muted cries, Nersite and Don wrapped a strip of material from Don’s tunic around her waist to contain the blood and to protect the wounds from dirt and air. Don picked her up, finding her to be lighter than he expected.

That was fortunate because she would get considerably heavier the further they went. They trekked deeper into the thicket circling around to north of the Kastmin pond. Off in the distance to the west, Don thought he heard the cries of either birds or children; he couldn’t tell which.

However, to their immediate south at the Kastmin village, through the bushes, they saw the Soreyes wandering around, securing cages packed with young Kastmin, mostly male.

There was loud bickering among the Soreyes. It seemed to Don as if many had been drinking liquor. Some of them shouted, “Let’s skin them now! This is bullshit taking them all the way back when all we need are their skins. It’ll be a lighter load that way!”

“
No, we aren’t to do anything until
Sydewynder
sees them. It’s up to him to decide who’s worth more as a skin or as a slave; otherwise, it’ll be
us
who get skinned or sold to the Aspen clan.”

“
You’re just afraid to do anything on your own, chickenshit!”

“
Look who’s calling me chickenshit, you little prick!”

They certainly use a vocabulary I can relate to! Now I know why my cursing was disturbing to Nersite.

Don looked at Nersite to see if he was disgusted overhearing this argument, but he looked scared yet resigned.

“
You’ve heard this kind of thing before, haven’t you?”

“
Fortunately for the Nohmin, our skins aren’t good for much of anything. But the fine beauty and durability of Kastmin skin… I know it sounds horrible. But then these
are
Soreyes. This is how it is with them.”

While the Soreye argument went on, it gave Don and Nersite a chance to work their way west carrying Raquela through the brush without much worry of being discovered. Finally, they reached the walking trail they had followed on their way to the Kastmin pond and moved quickly back to the Taurimin and Càhbahmin.

They hoped the Soreyes hadn’t raided those clans also. When they got there, it was as if nothing was wrong. They put Raquela on a Taurimin wagon and headed a half-mile to the Càhbahmin village where they had more room to bed her in a corner of a large dormitory consisting of one big, open room where the Càhbahmin lived in communal style.

Using boiled water, they cleaned her wound. Though Don was sore and exhausted from carrying her, he gathered his strength for one more task.

“
OK, Raquela, grit your teeth. I’m going to break off the point, then pull the shaft out the back. I’ll do it all at once not to prolong the pain. Ready?”

“
Just do it!” she said through clenched teeth.

Don positioned himself.

“
Is there anything I can do?” Nersite asked.

“
Yeah, get me a beer and then get the hell out of here and bring back what’s-her-name from Piralltah!”

Don gently rolled Raquela on her left side, gripping the shaft sticking out the right side of her back with his left hand. He grasped the sharp point coming out the front above her waistline with his right hand. He ignored the sting as it cut the palm of his hand. Then in one motion, he broke the point and slid the shaft out as smoothly as humanly possible.

Raquela clamped her lips shut fiercely, suppressing a scream. Then she slumped like a deflated hot air balloon, unconscious.

After Nersite left, Don spread out the strip of his tunic that had soaked up her blood. He looked at the older
Càhbahmin woman, Nell, who had stayed to help.

“
I don’t like this at all. She’s lost too much blood. If only we could have brought her in a wagon. Carrying her put too much stress on her wound.”

“
You couldn’t help it. You got her here alive. We can only do our best now,” Nell said.

Don was so tired that, in spite of his mind racing like a dragster, he collapsed next to Raquela and fell into a dreamless sleep.

The setting sun sent a dark orange cast over the fields and in a long shaft across the floor of the Càhbahmin dormitory. Don awoke with a start as if he were still under Soreye attack. He saw Raquela lying deadly still. The Càhbahmin woman was bent over her running a damp cloth all over her face.

Don had almost no voice. “Is she… is she OK?”

Nell looked at Don as if she had forgotten he was there. “Oh. You’ve had a long rest. Yes. She’s OK. She sleeps even deeper than you. I only heard a whimper from her once or twice, but she hasn’t moved and her breathing is even, though very shallow.”

They heard a noise outside and soon the shaft of orange light across the floor was broken by two shapes coming in the big open room. It was Nersite and a Pirallt dressed much like Raquela except she was smaller and older.

“
I see you have gotten our wounded sister to stay still and sleep. That’s hard to do, especially when she’s feeling more like herself!” Chuckling at her own joke, she removed a large bag that was slung over her right shoulder, across her back, and wrapped around her left hip.

She brought forth loose herbs along with small leather and canvas bags. “I’ll need a large pot of boiling water. If you can build the fire nearby, that would be best.”

Nell ran off and was soon back. The Pirallt woman, who had introduced herself as
             
Florentine, started blending herbs and powders from the bags into five little piles.

From one bag, she took a pinch of rosemary to assist Raquela’s circulation and relieve headaches that often accompanied the stress of such an injury. To promote calmness she added lavender.

Then out came her heavy duty herbs: yarrow for healing the wound and possible infection; garlic to combat microbial infection and to toughen the immune system; and finally, Echinacea to also boost the immune system.

Florentine poured several of the piles into the pot of water before the fire was going under it.

As the water began boiling, she scooped some out with a crude wooden ladle and allowed the steam from the concoction to waft against Raquela’s face. She breathed it in deeply.

“
Good, my girl. Just keep breathing it in.”

She motioned to Nersite to get a cup. She then poured more of the hot liquid into it and added the ingredients from another of her little piles. She stirred it vigorously.

“
Don, you must lift up Raquela so I can get her to drink this.”

Don lifted her and she drank the hot tea, making faces and wrinkling her nose. To Don it smelled a lot like an astringent licorice and because he hated licorice, he understood why she made a face, but she drank it keeping her eyes closed.

After letting her head back down, Don helped Florentine remove the fresh dressing around Raquela’s wound. It didn’t look good. It was swollen and even in the dim light, it was very red. Don could feel the heat from the infection.

“
We tried to keep it clean, but it was too hard on her to be carried for so long. I’m sorry!”

Florentine looked at Don gently. “You did what was best. You couldn’t stay in the bosque and had no other way to get her back here. The arrow was infected to start with. The Soreyes are filthy at best, so their vermin was on the point and shaft. They may have infected it on purpose.”

“
Yeah, but—”

“
No ‘buts’! You and Nersite have saved her life. I will press out the infection and clean it with her own herbs, a special poultice of concentrated yarrow, garlic, and Echinacea I brought from her stores. She will be just fine.”

Was she just saying that? If so, she was very convincing. Don felt Nersite patting his back. The two exchanged a look of fervent hope and tentative relief. Raquela never regained consciousness as Florentine tended her wound though she moaned in a way that sent a cold knife through Don’s chest when Florentine pressed the rotten gray blood out of the wound.

Later, Nersite slept quietly as Florentine gathered her herbs and lay down to rest.

Nell went out to explain the situation to the returning Càhbahmin outside the dorm house. They came in quietly and retired to the far sides of the big room, careful not to disturb the patient.

Don sat up next to Raquela and listened to her breathe. Then he lay down beside her and gently grasped her right hand, afraid to touch her in any other way in case it might cause her discomfort.

He was unaware of when he went into a fitful sleep full of mad slashing Soreyes while Kastmin, Nohmin, and he struggled to run through endless willow jungles whipped by the stinging branches and brought down by thick mud.

fifty seven